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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871457">How She Bangs the Pages of Her Wings When She Flies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaughtInTheRa1n/pseuds/CaughtInTheRa1n'>CaughtInTheRa1n</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Knows About Morgana's Magic (Merlin), BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Banter, Blood, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Morgana (Merlin), Handcuffs, Happy Ending, Head Injury, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I promise this isn't as dark or as graphic as the tags make it seem, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Magic Suppression, Merlin &amp; Morgana Friendship (Merlin), Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Nausea, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Magic Reveal, Relationship(s), Sassy Merlin (Merlin), Useless Lesbians, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:42:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaughtInTheRa1n/pseuds/CaughtInTheRa1n</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Morgana admits to having magic, Merlin and Gwen promise to help her. But when a tragic accident lands Morgana and Merlin in a prison cell, can Morgana trust herself to save them both? And can she forgive herself before she loses the woman she loves?</p><p>Or</p><p>Merlin's pretty useless (but at least he can pronounce the spells), Morgana is a perfectly functional human being (unless Gwen is involved), Gwen is missing, Arthur has a sword, and prison cells are apparently great places for self-reflection.</p><p>Oh, and Morgana deserved better, so I'm giving her better.</p><p>Written for the first round of The Perilous Lands Discord Server Tiny Reverse Bang 2021</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Merlin Tiny Reverse Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work is inspired by Tabby's gorgeous piece of artwork, which you can find <a href="https://merrowbell.tumblr.com/post/639947206148980736/morgana-deserves-some-soft-magic-i-think">here!</a> Go check it out! It's beautiful! Thank you for putting this out into the world. I saw it and thought, "Morgana deserved better than what she got, and nobody can convince me otherwise."</p><p>So this story picks up immediately after 2x03: <cite>A Nightmare Begins,</cite> except that Merlin, Morgana, Gwen, and Arthur have already gotten all of their <i>I have magic</i> confessions out of the way and are now free to actually communicate.</p><p>The title is a variation of a line from a poem by Mary Oliver titled <cite> Seven White Butterflies.</cite></p><p>This is my first time posting on AO3 so please let me know if there are any formatting mistakes!</p><p>And a special thanks to Michaelssw0rd for being my beta and cheerleader!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>The cell is dark. Dark, and cold, and Morgana is just about at her wits’ end.</p><p>She waits for the guards, led by the red-headed bounty hunter, to disappear down the hallway before whirling to face Merlin.</p><p>“What was <em>that?”</em> she hisses, trying to keep her voice down. “Why’d you stand there and let that sorry excuse for a bounty hunter <em>monologue</em> at you? You could have thrown him into the next kingdom!”</p><p>Merlin, who had woken up about halfway through the entire <i>here’s-the-plan-and-don’t-bother-trying-to-escape</i> monologue, gives Morgana a wild-eyed look. He lifts his arms to show her the iron manacles around his wrists and says simply:</p><p>“It isn’t working.”</p><p>He doesn’t <em>sound</em> panicked, but that could be because he’s taken a hit to the head. Morgana takes a moment to thank her lucky stars that it was a rogue spell that knocked her out, because Merlin looks terrible—slumped against the back wall of the cell with a bruise blossoming across his temple. She cringes every time she looks at it.</p><p>“What do you <em>mean,</em> it isn’t working?” She’s started pacing, inspecting the walls and floor and ceiling.</p><p>He shoots her a glare. “I mean that <em>it isn’t working.</em> I thought that was pretty clear when I <em>didn’t</em> throw him into the next kingdom.”</p><p>“What, did you run out of magic? Did the all-powerful warlock run out of magic?”</p><p>Merlin clenches his jaw.</p><p>“If you haven’t noticed, Morgana, I’m a bit—“ he shakes the chains around his wrists—<em>“hung up</em> at the moment. And can you keep your voice down? My head is killing me.”</p><p>“Oh, so a little pair of metal bracelets can halt the great Emrys in his tracks?”</p><p>Merlin pauses, looks pointedly at the cell door, and whispers something to himself. Nothing happens.</p><p>“...Looks like it, yeah.”</p><p>“Typical men!” she throws her hands in the air, “done in with a bit of jewelry!”</p><p>Merlin rolls his eyes. “Fine, okay. Then how about <em>you</em> do something about it.”</p><p>Morgana stops pacing around the edges of the cell and looks at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she asks, gesturing at the walls. “While you lie there and complain about your head, I’ve already started looking for a way to get us out of here.”</p><p><i>And a way to find Gwen,</i> she thinks, but doesn’t say that last part, because if she thinks too much about it, she’ll throw up.</p><p>“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Merlin grunts, shifting his body into a more upright position against the wall. Despite her bravado, Morgana can’t help the concern from flitting across her face. Merlin is very pale in the dim light of the cell, and he seems to be putting a lot of effort into sitting up. She’d been groggy when she first awoke, but she hadn’t been hit in the head, and she isn’t chained. Evidently the bounty hunter and his men only knew about Merlin’s magic.</p><p>In fact, she’s been treated pretty well, all things considered. Her dress isn’t stained. Even her hair is still pinned up.</p><p>Still, injured or not, Merlin is asking too much of her. She reaches up to touch her hair pin, fingering the strand of golden ivy. It’s a nervous tic that she’s developed, rubbing the pin, checking to make sure it’s there when she can’t feel its weight. Right now, though, the pin feels like a heavy reminder. He <em>knows</em> how she feels about her magic, and he knows what happened last time.</p><p>“Merlin, you know I can’t.”</p><p>She goes back to running her hands along the walls, inspecting the hinges of the door, testing the bars on the tiny window.</p><p>“I know you’re afraid,” he says. “But I don’t think we have another choice.”</p><p>“We will find another way. Anything but...that.” Her lips are tight, her jaw set. “Even if we fail to escape now, Uther will receive the ransom demand and send a rescue party carrying an entire <em>sack</em> of gold. And you know that Arthur will come for you, whether Uther allows him or not. You’re Arthur’s damsel in distress after all, and if the bounty hunters know anything about his affections, then they most certainly will include you in the deal—”</p><p>“You heard what he said about the note. I’m not in it. And if Arthur doesn’t cooperate, his bandits will attack.” He pauses. “And you <em>know</em> he won’t cooperate.”</p><p>She had heard. It had been difficult to miss. The man hadn’t stopped ranting about it. Something about meeting Arthur at a secure location, something about cooperation or violence, something about leaving Merlin behind, blah blah blah, ransom.</p><p>“The bounty hunter was just trying to scare you, of course. Arthur will probably take them all by surprise. The Druids know that you’re with me, and Arthur will surely figure that out, if Gwen hasn’t told him already, and besides, he would pay anyone half the kingdom to—”</p><p>“Arthur doesn’t <em>have</em> half the kingdom at his disposal. Uther does, and the bandits know he couldn’t give a rat’s arse whether a servant lives or dies. They’ll bring you to the location, but I’m not worth the risk, even if Arthur makes a good offer.”</p><p>Merlin’s breathing has gotten a little shallow, and Morgana decides it’s because of the anger he’s feeling.</p><p>Morgana lifts her chin. “Arthur has his own assets. His offer will be large enough for both of us.” </p><p>Merlin squeezes his eyes shut as a shudder runs down his spine. He grunts in pain. “I don’t think they’re particularly interested in Arthur’s assets.”</p><p>“They’re interested in Uther’s,” she points out. “Why would they keep you alive if it isn’t for monetary gain?”</p><p>“They’ll get gold for you. They might have even gotten some gold for me, but I’m a servant who knows all about the castle, and the prince’s habits, and on top of that, I have a fancy Druid name, <em>and</em> I’m a magic user. I’m worth more in information alone than whatever Arthur can spare.”</p><p>“He’d give them everything he owned, Merlin, he loves you. He—“</p><p>“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps, and then groans, pressing his chained hands to his head. “But <em>they</em> don’t know that.” His voice is softer. “And they can’t find out. Arthur can’t be with a servant, not before he’s been crowned king. It would show strategic weakness. No allegiances to marry into? No heir? They aren’t expecting an offer for me, and they’re expecting full cooperation. And we know that isn’t going to happen.”</p><p>Merlin has a point. But that doesn’t mean Arthur won’t work out some kind of deal anyway. Or he’ll sweep in and cut all of the bandits down with his sword.  Even if Uther hasn’t received the ransom note yet, Arthur has certainly caught wind of the raid on the Druid camp by now, of Merlin and Morgana’s kidnapping. And if Gwen is alright—and Morgana refuses to believe she isn’t—then she’s definitely told him herself. He’s probably tracking them now.</p><p>And Morgana isn’t going to sit around and wait to be rescued, either. She just needs time to think, time to make a plan. They could overpower the guards, maybe, and knock them out, or get ahold of one of their weapons, and that’s only a worst-case scenario...</p><p>At Morgana’s silence, Merlin speaks again.</p><p>“I know you can do it,” he says softly, and it’s irritating, how kind he’s being. If he <em>really</em> knew how afraid she was, he wouldn’t ask. </p><p>“No. I told you, I’m not ready. Last time...“</p><p>He cuts her off. “Last time, you were confused. Last time, you barely knew what was happening, and I should have been there, and-“</p><p>“I hurt Gwen, Merlin!” she hisses, “Or did you forget? I couldn’t bear it if—what if it had been worse?”</p><p>“But it <em>wasn’t</em> worse. Gwen’s going to heal. And this time, you’ll be awake, and I’ll be here, and you have time to-“</p><p>“No!” She twists around and winces when her voice echoes down the hall. She listens for the sound of guards, but there is nothing. Just the two of them in a dark cell. “No,” she says, more calmly. “We can get out of this a different way. All of the knights have escaped from worse—hell, even Arthur has escaped from worse. And they’re all as thick as these walls.”</p><p>Merlin gives her a tired little smile, but his eyes are now a little glassy, and Morgana isn’t sure if that’s from the hit to the head or the magic suppression. Or maybe he’s just pitying her.</p><p>She hates the thought.</p><p>“I was there for most of those escapes, and I had my magic,” he says, resigned. Morgana ignores him. She will <em>not</em> be doing magic. It’s uncontrollable, it’s dangerous, she could hurt herself, or Merlin, and besides, she doesn’t know any spells.</p><p>“I can walk you through it this time,” he says, as if he’s reading her mind. She might have suspected he was, except it’s clear that his magic isn’t working, and she isn’t sure magic can even do that. She doesn’t know much at all. “I can tell you the spell and exactly how to say it, and if something goes wrong…” he trails off.</p><p>“Then what? You can’t do damage control, you don’t have your magic, and even if I blast this door off its bloody hinges, you don’t exactly look like you’re up for running.” She frowns. “Or...even standing.”</p><p>Merlin scowls. “I can stand,” he mutters.</p><p>She crosses her arms. “Really.” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>She raises her eyebrows. Merlin fidgets uncomfortably beneath her gaze, his chains clinking. </p><p>She doesn’t drop the stare. Instead, she gives him a once over, and he gives a little sigh. </p><p>“Fine,” he mutters. Wincing, he takes a deep breath and pulls himself up. It’s awkward with the short length of chain between his wrists, but after a bit of maneuvering he stands, his legs shaking, and leans heavily against the wall. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he cracks his eyes open and lifts his chin.</p><p>“Told you so.”</p><p>Morgana looks at his heaving chest and trembling legs and shakes her head. “You do <em>not</em> inspire confidence in me, Merlin. And I still refuse to do it.”</p><p>Another tired smile. “You’ve...always been stubborn.”</p><p>Morgana isn’t sure if that’s meant to be fond or insulting, because his voice is a little slurred towards the end. There’s a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead.</p><p>“That, I am. Maybe even more than you,” she says, trying to keep her tone light. He’s positively sagging against the wall, and despite her jests, she’s frightened that he <em>actually</em> can’t stand.</p><p>She reaches out to take his arm, and it’s a testament to how horrible he must feel that he allows her to help lower him to the ground.</p><p>“And on top of that, I’m rather certain that in terms of pure muscle mass, I also have you beat,” she forces out, still trying to keep it light. It isn’t much of a consolation, considering all of her non-magical plans include hitting the guards over the head with something and making a run for it.</p><p>Merlin lets out a pained sort of laugh, eyes still closed, and leans his head against the wall. He doesn’t say anything, though, and that worries her. Merlin seems to be getting worse, and she doesn’t know if it’s because of the concussion or the cuffs.</p><p>“Tell me what I can do to help,” she says.</p><p>Another little laugh. “I believe the phrase you used was, ‘blast the door off its bloody hinges,’” he says, without opening his eyes. “That’d be a huge help. Or maybe magic up a key for the cuffs.”</p><p>Ah, so it’s the cuff’s fault, although she imagines the concussion isn’t helping. Morgana swallows. Merlin might have been a bit daft at times, but she was hoping maybe he’d have one of those moments of clarity that Arthur always talked about, and come up with an escape plan that <em>didn’t</em> involve Morgana’s untrained and unpredictable magic.</p><p>If she sent a spell hurtling at Merlin’s bonds, would she injure him? Probably. And that was <em>if</em> her magic even decided to <em>listen</em> to a spell.</p><p>“Merlin, there is absolutely no way I am casting a spell directly at you.”</p><p>“I trust you,” he says, and it’s casual, although his eyes are still closed and his voice is not any less slurred.</p><p>“Well, I think you’re well and truly losing it.”</p><p>He hums. “Maybe.”</p><p>Morgana doesn’t answer. She finishes her inspection of the cell and it’s official: there’s no way out.</p><p>“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Merlin says, obviously switching tactics.</p><p>Morgana shakes her head. “I do not wish to talk about it.”</p><p>“We must.”</p><p>“It was my magic, Merlin.”</p><p>Merlin winces and shifts his arms in his lap. “Gwen doesn’t blame you. I’m sure of it.”</p><p>“How do you know?” Morgana can’t keep the anger out of her voice. “You don’t know anything about it.”</p><p>“I was there when she woke up. I think I would know.”</p><p>That stings a little. Morgana hadn’t been emotionally ready to see Gwen when she woke up from the Druids’ healing spell, and now she was trapped in a cell with absolutely no idea whether Gwen had survived the raid on the Druid camp or not, and no way to get out.</p><p>“And besides that,” Merlin drops his voice. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”</p><p>Morgana feels a rush of heat to her face, and she turns away, even though Merlin’s eyes are still closed.</p><p>“Like what?” she tries to keep her voice neutral—is it neutral? She thinks it is.</p><p>“She stayed up all night in your chambers,” he says. “Even <em>after</em> you told her about the magic.”</p><p>“She’s a good friend.”</p><p>Merlin’s eyes open. “I’m a friend, and I didn’t stay in your chambers.”</p><p>“You aren’t my maidservant.”</p><p>“I’m Arthur’s manservant, and I’ve never stayed in his chambers.”</p><p>Morgana gives him a knowing look. </p><p>Merlin sputters. “For manservant reasons! I’ve never stayed in his room for <em>manservant reasons.</em> And you’re just proving my point.”</p><p>“The relationship between a maidservant and her lady is different from a manservant and his prince.”</p><p>“Yes, well you were also the first person she asked for when she woke up at the Druid camp.”</p><p>That piece of information hits Morgana hard. She didn’t know that, but then, how could she? Gwen had only been awake for a short while before the bandits had swarmed in, and there hadn’t been time in the chaos to make sure she’d made it to safety.</p><p>Still, Gwen asking for her first didn’t necessarily mean anything. Merlin was just toying with her emotions, trying to get her to agree to the magic. It wasn’t going to work. Gwen was Morgana’s maidservant, so she spent the most time with her. It was only logical that she’d ask for Morgana when waking up in an unfamiliar place.</p><p>“Of course she did—you’d ask for Arthur first, too,” she snaps. And then she realizes what she’s just said, and blushes even harder, because Merlin <em>would</em> ask for Arthur first, but then, they spend an entirely <em>different </em>type of time together. She shoots a sideways look at him.</p><p>“Exactly,” he says. He looks like he’s fighting to stay awake, but he’s wearing a triumphant smile. </p><p>Morgana shakes her head. “That is not what I meant. Just because she called my name out first doesn’t mean she...”</p><p> He still has that smug smile on his face.</p><p>“Stop that. She does not feel that way about me.”</p><p>“If you say so,” he says, closing his eyes again. “But I’m sure that if Arthur would sell half the kingdom to get me back, Gwen is willing to forgive a couple of burns on her arm, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Those are not the same thing,” she says. “They do not even come close to being the same thing.”</p><p>Merlin shrugs, and Morgana watches him for a moment, but he doesn’t open his eyes again. The sweat on his forehead has beaded and rolled down his cheeks, and he’s trembling. </p><p>“Are you supposed to sleep with a head wound?” she asks, looking at the gash. He’s the physician’s apprentice, he should know.</p><p>But he wrinkles his brow and shrugs again. He grits his teeth and waits for another tremor to run its course down his spine before speaking.</p><p>“Think the cuffs are the bigger problem,” he forces out.</p><p>“I still don’t think you should sleep.”</p><p>“I…” he winces. “Honestly don’t think I have very much of a choice in the matter.”</p><p>“At least try. For me.”</p><p>He smiles, his head still resting against the back wall, but he seems to already be losing the battle.</p><p>“Stay awake, Merlin.”</p><p>But she’s fairly certain he’s already started to nod off. She calls his name a few more times, but when she doesn’t get any response, she sits down at the front of the cell and tests how far she can stretch her arm out between the bars. Then she tries to listen for footsteps, but there aren’t any, and she supposes that at least means that there won’t be any more trouble. </p><p>She tries to go over what Uther has taught her about being held hostage, but mostly it’s just “wait for rescue,” and he’s never given her directions on what to do if she has a half-conscious warlock with her, so it’s pretty useless.</p><p>She fiddles with her hair pin again, untangling it from its dark nest and holding it in her palm. It catches the meagre rays of sunlight coming in from the tiny window behind her, and in the dark the gold seems brighter. </p><p>
  <i>“For you, my lady.”</i>
</p><p>Morgana can almost hear Gwen’s voice in the silence of the cell, and she bites on her lip to keep her tears back. </p><p>
  <i>“Oh, it’s beautiful, Gwen! Who is it from?”</i>
</p><p>She knows that Merlin was just telling her nice things so that she’d use her magic, but Morgana can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe Gwen <em>isn’t</em> mad at her. She won’t allow herself to think about more than that, because then she’ll get her hopes up, but was it truly possible that Gwen had woken up and forgiven her?</p><p>It was almost too much to hope.</p><p>
  <i>“A secret admirer, my lady,” Gwen says, her cheeks flushed. Morgana glances at the pin in her palms—it’s a golden strand of ivy—and then back up at Gwen. Her hair is floating around her face in fine brown ringlets, and Morgana aches to reach up and tuck a strand behind her ear.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Well,” Morgana says, taking the golden pin and moving towards her bureau. “That’s very kind of them. But it just so happens that I already have a hairpin.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>She doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment in Gwen’s eyes as she whirls around and opens her jewelry box. Gwen is standing with her hands neatly folded in front of her, the picture of a perfect servant, and if Morgana didn’t know her so well, she’d probably think the slight rocking on her heels was a sign of boredom.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But she does know her well, so she knows that Gwen is actually nervous. Rummaging through her jewelry box, Morgana tries to suppress her smile.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“And seeing as I don’t very well need two,” she continues, finally finding the pin and pulling it from its casing. “Would you want this one, Gwen?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She holds it up. It’s maybe a little larger than what Gwen usually wears, but it’s finely sculpted; a line of sapphire butterflies perched on a nest of gently unfurling leaves. Between the wings, tendrils of gold, blunted by seed-pearl inlays, curl into themselves before disappearing into the foliage. Morgana had seen it in the market a few weeks ago, and immediately thought the blue would compliment Gwen’s dark hair, and the gold her eyes. She’d just been waiting for an appropriate excuse to give it to her, and here a moment had presented itself.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh no, no,” Gwen says, looking at the piece of jewelry, and her blush has spread across her nose. “I couldn’t—”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I insist,” Morgana tries to keep her voice firm and serious, but she can’t breathe quite as deeply around the swelling in her chest. “Come on.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She takes Gwen’s hand and leads her to her bed, not even bothering to hide her excitement. She sits and pulls Gwen down beside her.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Morgana’s fingers are shaking, her face a little too hot. The pin is slippery in her sweaty fingers as she watches Gwen slide off her shoes and get settled on the edge of the bed. Morgana squeezes the pin in her hand, its sharp edges digging into her palm.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gwen tucks her legs up underneath her, like a child about to listen to a bedtime story, and Morgana has the ridiculous notion that she’s somehow trying to make herself taller—and that maybe she’s succeeded, because they’re now eye-to-eye and the sun is slanting into the room and lighting up the golden flecks in Gwen’s eyes, and her pupils have disappeared into the warm dark of her irises, and she’s smiling, just a little, her lips parted—</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Um,” Morgana needs to look down before she does something she’ll regret. She makes a vague gesture with the hand holding the pin, and Gwen blinks and follows her gaze, letting out a little laugh.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh, of course. Here,” she says, and is Morgana imagining it, or is she a little breathless, too? </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Maybe it’s the sun.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gwen tilts her head to the side, and Morgana is looking at the way her lashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks, how there is a very fine spray of freckles on her nose, how the curve of her jaw tucks softly into the space below her ear—</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gwen clears her throat and gives Morgana a polite, but perplexed, smile. Morgana stares at her blankly for a second before realizing that she’s supposed to put the pin in her hair.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She takes a moment to pull herself together before finally sweeping a few strands of hair away from Gwen’s face and twisting them up above her ear, securing them with the sapphire pin.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“There,” she says, but it comes out a little too breathy, and she clears her throat and tries again. “There.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gwen looks at Morgana and smiles, genuinely this time, and reaches her hand up to touch the pin. She stands—untucking her legs and untangling them from her skirts, tripping a little—and makes her way over to Morgana’s dressing mirror.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She turns her head to the side to admire her reflection. Her hand hovers just above the sapphire butterflies, close but not touching. Her eyes are serious.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Is something the matter, Gwen?” Morgana is trying to get her heartbeat back into a normal rhythm, but it doesn’t seem to want to cooperate.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gwen shakes her head, still looking at her reflection.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Do you not like it?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It’s....beautiful,” she says quietly. She turns to look at Morgana. “Truly.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It looks lovelier on you than it ever did me.” She wants to say more, but forces herself to stick to the middle road. If she starts complimenting her too much, she won’t be able to stop. “I do hope you don’t mind the color?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I don’t mind at all! They’re one of my favorite butterflies, the blue ones. You don’t see a lot of blue in the wild at all.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Of course Morgana already knows that, because Gwen has given her a speech about the color blue twice before—once when Morgana had found a beautiful bolt of indigo silk in the market, and another when they’d gone for a walk in the woods, and Gwen had picked forget-me-nots from the forest grasses and tucked them into Morgana’s hair.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She’d said that birds sometimes wove blue objects into their nests to impress their mates, because blue was so hard to find. Morgana had listened and wondered about the sky, wondered why blue was so rare to touch but so easy to see when she looked up, but then Gwen had given a little self-conscious laugh and moved on.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Later, Gwen had cut the bolt of indigo silk into neat little squares and twisted them into irises, which she’d carefully stitched into the bodice of Morgana’s favorite dress.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Blue was expensive and blue was luxurious and blue was Gwen’s favorite color, and Morgana knew all of this. But she wasn’t about to admit it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Who would have guessed?” Morgana says, instead of any of the words in her head, and her voice is still a little too high. “It’s almost like you were meant to wear it.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Almost.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’ll have a cloak made up to match.” She cuts Gwen off when she begins to protest. “I owe you a new cloak anyway, Gwen. It’s getting cold in the halls.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gwen smiles, plucking the golden ivy pin off of Morgana’s dresser. Her movements are much more practiced as she slides across the slippery floor in her stockings and tucks Morgana’s hair up in a fluid motion, slipping the pin into the center. She gives it a little pat.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Your admirer has excellent taste, my lady,” she says, smiling. “Gold suits you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And before Morgana can formulate any sort of response, before she can decide whether now would be a good time to grab Gwen by the waist and press kisses into that soft space between her jaw and ear—Gwen winks, picks her shoes up off of the floor, and walks out of the room.</i>
</p><p>When Morgana comes out of the memory, she realizes she’s lost the battle against the tears. Of course, the hair pin exchange had been <em>before</em> the dreams, before the magic and the broken pottery. It had been long before she’d confided in Merlin for help, and even longer before Merlin had advised her to come clean to Arthur and Gwen. And Gwen had comforted her through it all—even when she’d awoken in the middle of the night for days on end, gasping for air and unsure about why she felt so much doom in her chest.</p><p>And of course, it had been long before Morgana confessed her magic to Gwen, and Gwen had offered to stay the night, and the <em>stupid bloody fire—</em></p><p>But Gwen had been healed, and they’d reached the Druids in time, and Merlin had spoken to her, and maybe it wasn’t as bad as Morgana thought it was. Maybe Gwen didn’t blame her.</p><p>What did it mean when Morgana had been more ready to tell Gwen about the magic than her own feelings?</p><p>What does it mean that she is now equally scared of both?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>An hour passes. Morgana keeps mulling over Merlin’s words. If Gwen <em>did</em> forgive her, what would that mean for them? Would Gwen be comfortable around her now that she knew Morgana’s magic was violent? Would she be hesitant?</p>
<p>Another hour passes.</p>
<p>The day crawls into night. Morgana tries to keep her mind off of Gwen by pacing, and then counting the number of stones in the walls. </p>
<p>Another hour.</p>
<p>She attempts to have a conversation with Merlin, but he keeps nodding off mid-sentence, and try as she might, she can’t keep him awake for more than a few minutes at a time. She’s worried about that, but she also can’t do anything about it, and Merlin isn’t coherent enough to give her medical instruction.</p>
<p>She debates whether her magic has the ability to spontaneously heal head wounds (and possibly dissolve magic-suppressing-manacles?) as well as it can shatter vases and light things on fire, but she squelches the idea. She doesn’t know how to cast. She can stare pointedly at things and wave her arms around as much as she wants, but she isn’t Merlin. </p>
<p>She wonders how much of what Merlin knows is studied, and how much of it is natural. He’d shown her his magic book, once, the morning after they’d confessed their magic to one another, but she was afraid to touch it, and it was written in a language that she couldn’t read.</p>
<p><i>“If you look at it long enough, you’ll get it,”</i> Merlin had said, but Morgana wasn’t so sure. <i>“See? Like this word...lif. It means life. And this one, ligfyr? That means fire. It makes sense, after awhile, and then you can make your own.”</i></p>
<p>Morgana didn’t bring it up again until the day after the accident, after the fire in her chambers had been put out and they’d all made the frantic dash to the Druid healers to fix Gwen’s burned-and-hexed arm, and Merlin had been as cryptic as ever.</p>
<p><i>“You just need to lean into it,”</i> he’d said. <i>“Once you view it as a tool instead of an animal, it becomes easier to control. The language just...comes to you. Of course, the books help.”</i></p>
<p>Morgana thought it was easy for him to say that, since he’d never accidentally cursed his closest friend or had terrifying prophetic dreams, but she kept her mouth shut. He’d had his own ordeals when he’d confessed everything to Arthur. Instead, she had just nodded and gone back into the healer’s tent.</p>
<p>Another hour.</p>
<p>When it gets too dark to see anything, she finally joins Merlin against the back wall of the cell, bored out of her mind and listening to his shallow breathing.</p>
<p>She tries to sleep, but it’s never very deep and she’s worried about the nightmares. Part of her thinks that they could be helpful—all of her magic thus far has been related to nightmares, and maybe they could use a little destruction—but she’d probably just make Merlin’s head wound worse, somehow, or light herself on fire.</p>
<p>She’s so thirsty.</p>
<p>The night drags on.</p>
<p>Morgana finally falls asleep when the cell turns from midnight-black to dawn-gray, and she dreams.</p>
<p>
  <i>Gwen is sitting on the ground in front of her. They’re in the woods, in a meadow of blue forget-me-nots, and Gwen is laughing and holding a basket full of herbs. The burns on her arm have faded to a shiny pink-brown, and the bandages are gone.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Morgana blinks, and Gwen is running, tossing her hair back, kicking blue petals into the air, and Morgana is chasing her, the herb basket forgotten, and suddenly Gwen has stopped and turned around, her face too close to Morgana’s, the forget-me-not petals fluttering around her face, powder-blue and delicate—</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And they’re butterflies, not petals, blue ones, and she’s in a cave, and Merlin kneels and whispers into his fingers, setting butterflies aloft and watching them disappear, and Morgana is in the clearing, leaning down to kiss Gwen, to brush her lips against the freckles on her nose, and Gwen catches the corner of her chin, and the kiss is soft and sweet, barely a brush of skin against skin, of the sunlight that slanted through the window in her chambers, and Morgana is afraid to touch her with her hands, afraid to burn her—</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>There are butterflies again, and they’re perched gently in Gwen’s hair as she sleeps. Morgana is standing outside her house and knocking on the windows, but Gwen wrinkles her nose in her sleep and turns over.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Morgana’s voice doesn’t work, but Merlin’s kneeling in the cave again, and when she shouts he looks up, startled, and mouths something to her. Morgana can’t understand him, can’t make out the words, and there’s scarlet blood dripping from his hairline, and Gwen is gone, and the butterflies in her hair brush past her and whisper:</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It is fear that holds you back, and fear that is your doom.</i>
</p>
<p>Morgana jolts awake, gasping. There’s a bang and the smell of acrid smoke, and when Morgana opens her eyes, it’s apparently their breakfast that has taken the brunt of her spell:</p>
<p>A bowl of greyish porridge sits at the edge of the cell, and beside it, the blackened remains of another bowl are smoldering.</p>
<p>Morgana curses and crawls over to the bowls, stamping out the remains of the flames and trying to clear the smoke. If their captors find out she has magic, they’ll cuff her, too, and then they <em>really</em> won’t have any escape options—</p>
<p>She freezes.</p>
<p>That is, <em>if</em> she decides to use her magic, which she hasn’t.</p>
<p>Has she? </p>
<p>She shakes her head and goes back to breakfast.</p>
<p>There’s a waterskin lying beside the bowls, unburnt, and she uncorks it and takes a sip, more thirsty than hungry. She leaves a little more than half of the water. Kicking the blackened bowl into the darkest corner of the cell, Morgana picks up the untouched one and sets it beside Merlin. </p>
<p>He’s still asleep. Although Morgana supposes she should be calling it <i>unconscious</i> at this point.</p>
<p>It figures that Arthur and the knights get kidnapped every other weekend, but the one time she’s kidnapped, Merlin can’t do anything to help her. Sighing, she looks at his head wound, but it looks about the same as before—it’s clotted now, and the bruising has begun to yellow a tiny bit around the edges, but otherwise it doesn’t show any signs of infection. She figures that’s better than nothing.</p>
<p>She unties Merlin’s scarf, wets the edge with the tiniest bit of water, and dabs away the dried blood.</p>
<p>It still looks the same, except cleaner.</p>
<p>She gags down half the porridge in the bowl, which is watery and tastes a bit like raw flour. She wonders if their rescue party has mobilized yet. Hopefully yes, but then she shouldn’t count on it. They need to get out, and get out soon.</p>
<p>She prods Merlin in the shoulder.</p>
<p>“Merlin,” she whispers. Nothing. She takes a hold of his shoulder and gives it a shake.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Merlin.”</em>
</p>
<p>Merlin makes a small nose in his throat, and his brows furrow, but he doesn’t open his eyes, and Morgana pours a bit of water into her palm and flicks it at his face.</p>
<p>“Come on, Merlin.”</p>
<p>He makes another noise, louder this time, and slits his eyes open. </p>
<p>“Water,” she says, holding up the waterskin, but Merlin doesn’t <em>really</em> seem awake, because his eyes don’t follow her hand. She sighs and presses the stopper to his lips, trying to trickle some of it into his mouth.</p>
<p>He coughs, and splutters, and <em>now</em> he seems more awake, because he pushes the waterskin away from his face and turns his head, catching his breath.</p>
<p>“Dear gods,” he gasps, his voice strained, and spits onto the ground. “Are you—” Another gasp. “—trying to drown me?”</p>
<p>“Must you be such a drama queen? It’s water.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he coughs again, “and it’s in my <em>lungs.”</em></p>
<p>“Well, you had been napping for long enough, and I was almost starting to get worried.”</p>
<p>Merlin brings his bound hands up to scrub at his face, and he does look a bit better, now that he’s awake and moving. He’s still pale, but his speech is less slurred. Maybe the head wound is healing faster than she’d hoped.</p>
<p>“What time is it?”</p>
<p>Morgana gives an overexaggerated glance towards the window.</p>
<p>“It’s day,” she says. “Probably morning. How am I supposed to know?”</p>
<p>“Did you sleep?”</p>
<p>She drops eye contact. “A little.”</p>
<p>“I can see that.” He jerks his head towards the corner of the cell, where the bowl is still gently smoking. “You know it’s not going to get better if you don’t let yourself explore it,” he murmurs.</p>
<p>“That’s enough.” She shoves the bowl of porridge into Merlin’s lap, who catches it ungracefully. “Eat, so we can come up with a plan.”</p>
<p>Merlin looks at the sludge in the bowl and turns a little green.</p>
<p>“I don’t think…”</p>
<p>“It’s not that bad. Just eat it.”</p>
<p>“No, I mean I <em>really</em> don’t think I can keep it down.” He sets the bowl next to him and turns his head away from it. “Doesn’t matter what it tastes like.”</p>
<p>Ah, right, head wounds. She holds out the waterskin and Merlin gratefully takes it.</p>
<p>They sit in silence. Morgana finishes the gruel and Merlin finishes the water. It’d almost be domestic, if they weren’t both sitting on the floor.</p>
<p>“Right, so escape plan.” Merlin presses the heel of his hand into his temple. “You...the walls. Did you already check the walls?”</p>
<p>“Yes. And the window, and the door. There are no obvious weaknesses that I can see.”</p>
<p>There’s a grating sound as Merlin’s boot scrapes against the floor. He drags a knee up to chest and makes an attempt to stand up, but he only rocks forward and hugs his knee. He lets out a frustrated sigh. </p>
<p>“Excellent, just...excellent,” he mutters. He’s talking more to himself than to Morgana. He runs his hands through his hair before continuing. “I guess I’ll take your word for it. Are there any enchantments on the door?”</p>
<p>The longer she looks at Merlin, the less faith Morgana has that they’ll be able to make a run for it at all, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get there. </p>
<p>“How would I know?” </p>
<p>“You’d know,” he says. “You’d feel it.”</p>
<p>“I feel nothing.”</p>
<p>“Great! Then you have two options. First option: wait for the guards to come back, hope they unlock the door, and then knock them out when they enter the cell...<em>if</em> they enter the cell.” He puts a lot of emphasis on the <i>if.</i> It’s clear that Merlin doesn’t like that plan, and with good reason: it’s not the most foolproof idea. Morgana had come up with the exact same plan. There’s not a lot to work with.</p>
<p>“Or—second option: Use your magic.”</p>
<p>Of course. Morgana should have guessed. Merlin continues without waiting for an answer.</p>
<p>“The spell you need to open the door-”</p>
<p>Morgana cuts him off. “I thought we’d been over this. My magic could get us both hurt.”</p>
<p>“—is <i>tóspringe.”</i> Merlin is ignoring her. “That’s the spell. Put your…put your hands like this, and…” he shifts, cuffs rattling, and lifts his hands in front of him, palms forward and fingers spread. He makes a pressing motion. “...push, while you say it. <i>Tóspringe.”</i></p>
<p>“That’s nice, but I won’t be saying it.”</p>
<p>Merlin drops his hands and gives her a dirty look. “Just humor me once, and then we can address the, frankly, <em>horrible</em> first option.”</p>
<p>“What if something explodes when I say it?” She snaps. “Something always explodes.”</p>
<p>“That’s the point,” he says seriously. At her unamused look, he sighs. “But if you don’t say it with intention, nothing will happen. I promise.”</p>
<p>She’s fiddling with her hairpin again. “What if I burn you?”</p>
<p>“You won’t. The spell doesn’t work like that.”</p>
<p>“But if I do?”</p>
<p>“You won’t.” He leans forward and lets out a pained breath, making full eye contact. “Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>Morgana hesitates. Her hand is still on the pin. It’s strange to admit it, but she <em>does</em> trust Merlin. She trusts him almost as much as she trusts Gwen. She lets go of the pin.</p>
<p>“Fine. Just once. ”</p>
<p>His face splits into a grin. <i>“Tóspringe.</i> That’s the whole spell.”</p>
<p>The word is unlike anything she’s ever heard, and her breath catches in her throat. All she can think of is the way Gwen had shrieked and stumbled backwards, clutching her arm to her chest, purple-black pulsing across her skin…</p>
<p>And then she swallows.</p>
<p>“Tóspringe,” she repeats, and it doesn't feel as foreign in her mouth as she expected it to. The strange, accented lilt of the word actually rolls off her tongue quite easily.</p>
<p>Nothing happens. No smoke, no fire, no curses rippling over skin—</p>
<p>Merlin nods. “That’s it,” he says, “you’re a natural. Now try it with the hand motion.”</p>
<p>Morgana is trembling. She turns towards the door and puts her hands out in front of her.</p>
<p>“Tóspringe,” she says, and her voice is shaking. She pushes her hands forward, waits for the shriek of pain behind her, because she is surely going to curse Merlin now, there’s no way she hasn’t—</p>
<p>But nothing happens.</p>
<p>“Try again.”</p>
<p>Morgana shoots him a look. “I don’t think I’m meant to learn spells.”</p>
<p>“Just once more.”</p>
<p>She’s tempting fate. She’s not a sorceress. She’s just a woman who has bad dreams.</p>
<p>Morgana looks back at the door, but when she starts to speak, only air comes out. She does the hand motion anyway, but of course, nothing happens.</p>
<p>She drops her arms. She thinks she might start to cry, and she doesn’t want to lose it in front of Merlin.</p>
<p>“It’s alright. We can try again in a few minutes. Sometimes it takes awhile for me to learn a new spell too.”</p>
<p>Morgana shakes her head. “I don’t think—” she pauses.</p>
<p>There are footsteps echoing down the hall. It sounds like two, maybe three men.</p>
<p>Merlin’s eyes widen. “They’re coming,” he whispers.</p>
<p>Morgana snatches up the wooden bowl and stands to face the door fully. Merlin clenches his fists in his lap and heaves himself into a crouch, breathing hard.</p>
<p>“So I guess we’re going with the bad plan?”</p>
<p>Morgana adjusts her grip on the bowl.</p>
<p>“Right.” Merlin nods. “Bad escape plan. I distract two of them,” he says, “and you can probably take out the last one and slip out the door.”</p>
<p>“What about you?”</p>
<p>“You’ll come back and get me, of course. With Gwen. And Arthur.”</p>
<p>“That’s a terrible plan.”</p>
<p>“I already said it was.”</p>
<p>The guards are in view now, and there are three: all dressed in patched leather and dirty muslin. Morgana doesn’t recognize any of them, not from the raid, but she remembers a few of the bandits had magic. Hopefully these ones didn’t.</p>
<p>A fourth pair of footsteps follows behind them, and Morgana’s heart drops when she catches a glimpse of red hair. It’s the bounty hunter from before, the monologuing one, and he has a giddy smile on his face.</p>
<p>“The note’s been sent, and we’ve received an offer,” he says, coming to stand in front of the three guards. He twists the key into the lock on the door and looks past Morgana. He gives Merlin a little nod. “For you.”</p>
<p>Her hold on the bowl tightens. If they want to take Merlin, they’re going to need to go through her first. She takes a side step, blocking Merlin from view.</p>
<p>“Morgana,” Merlin whispers from the floor. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>Morgana ignores him. He might be a self-sacrificing idiot for Arthur, but she is <em>not</em> Arthur. Merlin can shut up.</p>
<p>When the door is pulled open and the guards enter the space, three things happen at once:</p>
<p>One, Morgana lunges forward, bowl in hand, and bashes the first guard over the head with it. Blood gushes from a wound in his hairline, and he stumbles into the guard behind him.</p>
<p>Two, the leader lets out an angry shout and raises a hand in the air. His eyes flash gold.</p>
<p>And three, Merlin lets out a strangled cry, followed by a thump.</p>
<p>As the first guard pulls out his sword and tries to gain his balance, Morgana uses the bowl to knock his grip on the blade loose. In one motion, she’s able to drop the bowl, pull the blade from his hand, and level it at the second guard, who is already charging at her.</p>
<p>As she parries his attack, she distantly notes that she hadn’t expected to make it this far.<br/>
The third guard rushes straight by the fight, clearly more preoccupied with whatever it is Merlin is doing behind her.</p>
<p>A sword swings towards her head. She ducks and swings back, watching as the second guard jumps to avoid the blade.</p>
<p>So the guards don’t have magic. She wonders if the spell that hit her at the Druid camp could have been from the leader, but she doesn’t have time to think about anything else.</p>
<p>The first guard has managed to regain his bearings and swipes at her feet. She dances backwards, praying that she doesn’t step on Merlin.</p>
<p>If she can get ahold of another sword, would that be helpful for Merlin, or would he just injure himself?</p>
<p>Another parry. Morgana spins and slashes, opening up a shallow slice in one of the guards’ leather chest pieces. She’s pretty sure she catches skin.</p>
<p>Behind her, there’s another thump. Morgana blocks a downward swing towards her shoulder and pushes him back. This time, her blade definitely bites into skin, and the guard yelps, falling to a knee and clutching at a deep gash in his sword arm. He drops his weapon. Morgana kicks it away. </p>
<p>She lets out a breath and flicks some stray hair out of her eyes. She spins her sword over her shoulder and levels it at the guards, daring them to lunge.</p>
<p>They’re breathing hard and studying her, eyes flicking from the sword to her face, and just like that, the fight is over before it’s truly begun.</p>
<p>“Don’t move,” a voice says behind her, and it seems Merlin hasn’t kept up with his promise of distraction, because it’s definitely the bounty hunter speaking.</p>
<p>“Drop the sword.”</p>
<p>Morgana tightens her grip.</p>
<p>“And why would I do that?” she asks. She hasn’t turned around yet. She’s still looking at the two guards in front of her.</p>
<p>“I’ll kill him.”</p>
<p>Morgana’s blood runs cold. She looks over her shoulder for the first time.</p>
<p>There are two splatters of blood on the back wall and the third guard is crumpled beneath one of them, unconscious. There’s a wet, dark stain in the tangle of his hair. Morgana is impressed. She can’t begin to comprehend how Merlin managed <em>that,</em> since he wasn’t even capable of walking, last she checked.</p>
<p>But that feeling of pride quickly fades when she finally looks at him.</p>
<p>The bounty hunter has his left arm braced across Merlin’s chest like a human shield. Merlin’s head is pitched forward onto the arm, revealing a gash in his hair that is nearly identical to the guard. </p>
<p>He’s clearly unconscious.</p>
<p>The bounty hunter’s right hand clutches a dagger to Merlin’s neck, just below his left ear.</p>
<p>A slow grin crosses the bounty hunter’s face. He doesn’t look frightened. He looks impressed.</p>
<p>“Drop the sword, or he dies.”</p>
<p>Morgana is frozen to the spot.  “You wouldn’t,” she says, slowly.</p>
<p>“I would.”</p>
<p>Morgana hasn’t dropped the sword. It’s still pointed at the guards on the floor. “He’s worth more to you alive,” she says. “You’ve already received an offer.”</p>
<p>The bounty hunter’s smile drops. He presses the edge of the knife into the skin below Merlin’s jaw. A bead of blood wells up and drips down his neck. “Maybe the offer is for his body.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>“Do you want to try your luck? Drop the sword.”</p>
<p>Morgana is calculating how long it would take her to reach the bounty hunter and dispatch him. Is she fast enough to do it before he slits Merlin’s throat? She isn’t confident enough to try it.</p>
<p>The bounty hunter is staring at her. Morgana doesn’t move.</p>
<p>Finally, he rolls his eyes. </p>
<p>“I was hoping I wouldn’t need to waste my magic on you, your highness,” he says. “But I see I was mistaken.”</p>
<p>Morgana only has time to lunge forward before the bounty hunter hisses something under his breath and she drops to the floor, unconscious before she hits the ground.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Morgana wakes up feeling fine.</p>
<p>Merlin wakes up with an even worse headache than before.</p>
<p>Morgana wakes up alone.</p>
<p>Merlin wakes up in the middle of a monologue, again.</p>
<p>“Clever—before,” the bounty hunter is saying, even though Merlin hasn’t opened his eyes yet, so there’s no possible way for the bounty hunter to know that he’s regained consciousness.</p>
<p>As it stands, Merlin isn’t even sure if he’s regained consciousness—everything sounds like it’s underwater, and there’s a high-pitched sheet of white noise tightening around his skull. </p>
<p>“Enchant her— ”</p>
<p>Merlin is trying to listen, but it’s absolutely incoherent. What is this man’s problem? What on the goddess’s green earth could he possibly be talking about that couldn’t wait for Merlin to wake up? Is he practicing the monologue? Do bandits usually <em>practice</em> their monologues?</p>
<p>“Swooped...laundry.”</p>
<p>The world is still flat and cavernous around him, an echo chamber of nothing but Merlin’s own thoughts and his heavy limbs.</p>
<p>Which means his magic is still gone.</p>
<p>His wrists ache and it takes Merlin another moment to coordinate the movement of his eyelids. He drags his head up and realizes he’s seated—that’s nice, he supposes. Better than the floor. Not a comfortable chair, but he’ll manage. Everything is moving at half-speed, which is good, because if he was spinning any faster he’d probably vomit.</p>
<p>His vision is very blurry. He wants to rub at his eyes, but his arms aren’t cooperating. Autonomy is coming to him in pieces, as incoherent as the bounty hunter’s monologue, which seems to have stopped.</p>
<p>He blinks. Once. Twice. Squeezes his eyes shut and wills them to focus.</p>
<p>They don’t.</p>
<p>But somehow—and he isn’t sure how it’s possible—his arms come into focus instead. They’re in his lap, still cuffed, and his hands are secured between his knees to something under the lip of the chair. There’s a rope across his chest, and that’s all he gets through his skull before a red-tan blob detaches itself from the rest of the grey blobs and gets very close to his face.</p>
<p>Merlin only knows it’s the bounty hunter because of the reddish tinge. Well, that, and the fact that he starts talking again, one rapid-fire breath of words after another:</p>
<p>“That was clever,” the bounty hunter begins, “using the cuffs as a shield like that. I must hand it to you, I haven’t seen it before. You know, I had my doubts when I saw you at the Druid settlement. You don’t look like a particularly good servant, let alone the king’s personal manservant. And I’ll admit, I was not expecting you to have magic. But I’ll give you some credit. You’re holding up better than I expected, since I heard the Druids call you Emrys, and I did some research, and you’re made of magic or something, right? So good on you, lad.”</p>
<p>Merlin has to resist the urge to bash his own head into the back of the chair. Just get to the <em>point,</em> he wants to say, except he thinks opening his mouth might make him vomit. The stunt with the cuffs had been an act of desperation.</p>
<p>The bounty hunter had thrown a spell at him when he’d entered the cell, and he’d raised his hands up to protect his head—how was he supposed to know it would rebound off the cuffs? The second time had been on purpose, but it was pure luck when the rebound hit the third guard.</p>
<p>Too bad he wasn’t fast enough to block the third spell. He hoped Morgana was okay.</p>
<p>“You are aware that there’s a lucrative market in the dealing of information, and also that you have information, and also that there are a lot of people willing to pay a high price for the intimate dealings of the King of Camelot, and the Prince of Camelot, and the Lady Morgana—” he pauses, takes a breath, continues. “—not that she was part of the plan originally, but she was there and it’s convenient, right? And she’ll return a good ransom. I don’t know what you were planning on doing with her when you got to the Druids. Were you going to enchant her? You know what, it doesn’t matter. When we heard that you’d left the castle we just swooped in.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t wait for Merlin to say anything. Merlin’s thankful, because he’s trying to piece together a narrative. So the bounty hunter wanted him because he was a servant, and had waited until he left the castle, and then...overheard the Druids talking about him? And then just, snatched Morgana because she was nearby?</p>
<p>His blood runs cold. Did they get ahold of Gwen? Had they seen her? Merlin was operating under the assumption that Gwen was safe, but if they’d seen Morgana and Merlin, it was highly likely they’d seen Gwen, too.</p>
<p>“Anyway, as I was saying…Yes?”</p>
<p>Merlin clears his throat. The man stops and looks at him. </p>
<p>“The...serving girl,” Merlin slurs. His tongue is a little too heavy. </p>
<p>“What serving girl?”</p>
<p>Relief floods through Merlin’s aching limbs. She’s safe then. He’ll have to tell Morgana when he sees her next.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, but the movement rattles his brain and he dry heaves.</p>
<p>“For...Forget it,” he manages. “Hit…my head.”</p>
<p>The bounty hunter seems satisfied with that answer, because he keeps going.</p>
<p>“Anyway...I need you to tell me some things. Nothing big, not yet. Maybe we can start with the Prince’s laundry preferences and work our way up…”</p>
<p>Merlin groans and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s going to be a long day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Merlin has spent the better part of an hour shaking his head and breathing raggedly, and the bounty hunter—who, for all his talking, still hasn’t given a name—is starting to get more frustrated by his lack of cooperation. He’s pacing around the room and waving a knife around, and Merlin’s just hoping it stays away from his face. He’s trying to track the knife’s movements with his unfocused eyes while also keeping his head down and his nausea in check, but he’s not doing a particularly good job with the tracking.</p>
<p>He’s vomited, twice, but he’s already decided that’s a Noble Amount Of Times To Vomit, all things considered, and he was even able to pitch his head to the side and avoid getting it on his clothes, too.</p>
<p>And he hasn’t answered any questions.</p>
<p>He’s doing pretty well overall, he’d say.</p>
<p>Which is why the butterfly makes him do a double-take.</p>
<p><i>Gods,</i> he thinks, mentally upping his Official Noble-Vomit-Allowance to three, because apparently the concussion is worse than he thought.</p>
<p>The butterfly begins as a bluish circle amidst the gray, bobbing with silent laughter, before sharpening into view.</p>
<p>Its powder-blue wings flutter in the torchlight as it perches on Merlin’s knee, and he stares at it without comprehension.</p>
<p>It’s glowing.</p>
<p>And it’s definitely not the torchlight.</p>
<p>Maybe he’ll let himself vomit four times. He’s earned it, he thinks.</p>
<p>Behind him, the bounty hunter asks him another question, and Merlin feels the cold blade on his upper arm. It’s a warning. He hasn’t actually done anything yet, but they’re approaching a full hour now, and Merlin isn’t sure how long the man’s patience is going to last.</p>
<p>He winces and lets out a grunt when the knife cuts through his shirt and nicks his skin. It’s a superficial wound; it doesn’t even hurt that much, but he’s being asked another question now, and Merlin can’t stop staring at the insect on his leg.</p>
<p>The butterfly’s antennae are trembling, just close enough to be in focus.</p>
<p>And then there’s another one!</p>
<p>There aren’t any windows here—wherever <em>here</em> is—so where on earth...?</p>
<p>There’s a rumble beneath Merlin’s feet, sending the butterflies aloft again, and they twist in the air. Merlin’s eyes follow them up and up—</p>
<p>And the world comes crashing down around him.</p>
<p>Merlin lets out a gasp, jerking in the chair in an instinctive attempt to cover his head, but his arms are still secured between his knees, so he squeezes his eyes shut, hunches his shoulders to his ears, and pulls his knees up, curling as best he can.</p>
<p>He clenches his fists as bits of rock tap against his boots and knees and knuckles, and then there is silence.</p>
<p>Merlin can’t hear anything over the continuous buzzing in his ears and his own whistling breathing, but he musters the energy to uncurl himself. He blinks grit out of his eyelashes and squints into the grey gloom.</p>
<p>Standing in the middle of chaos, with golden eyes and arms raised, is Morgana.</p>
<p>“Morgana?”</p>
<p>She’s heaving, wide-eyed, and at Merlin’s voice she seems to snap out of her momentary awe. </p>
<p>Her hair is undone, unruly, and coated in a fine layer of dust that billows in gauzy sheets from her dress as she clambers over the stones towards him.</p>
<p>“You…” he swallows, nauseous, “...done it!” He can’t contain his disbelief. “Used magic!”</p>
<p>Her eyes focus on something behind him and she looks panicked. She throws a hand out again.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Tóspringe!”</i>
</p>
<p>A bit of the crumbling wall below Morgana rips itself away and whizzes by Merlin’s head, and he hears a thump behind him. Merlin’s head hurts too much to turn, but judging by the frightened look in her eyes, the bounty hunter is still conscious. </p>
<p><i>“Ástríce!”</i> Merlin shouts. He’s speaking with a tongue that sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he hopes it’s intelligible. “Same...hands. <i>Ástríce!” </i></p>
<p>Morgana nods, breathless. “Okay,” she says, “Okay…” she puts her hands up. <i>“Ástríce!”</i> </p>
<p>Her pronunciation is damn near perfect, and Merlin is too busy feeling proud of her to truly appreciate the sound of the bounty hunter crumpling behind him.</p>
<p>Morgana reaches Merlin and unties the ropes around his wrists and chest, but the manacles are still on. She runs to the unconscious bounty hunter and rummages through his pockets.</p>
<p>Merlin takes the opportunity to double over properly and vomit again. <i>Third time, totally acceptable.</i> He grimaces and spits onto the ground.</p>
<p>There are no keys in the bounty hunter’s pockets. She curses and runs back.</p>
<p>“That...was’nn-credible,” Merlin says, and he means it, even though it comes out too slowly.</p>
<p>She hauls him out of the chair by his arms.</p>
<p>“Yeah, great, I’m great, we need to move. Can you walk?” She doesn’t know how to get the cuffs off and there isn’t time.</p>
<p>“...no,” Merlin murmurs.</p>
<p>“Well unfortunately you don’t have another choice.” His wrists are connected by a short chain, so Morgana loops his arms around her shoulders and stands unsteadily. Merlin is a good head taller than she is, and he isn’t supporting much of his own weight. She wraps her arms around his waist.</p>
<p>It’s more of an ungraceful drag than a walk as they make their way back over the stones, with Morgana virtually manhandling him over the obstacles and Merlin just doing his best to not vomit on both of them.</p>
<p>She’s out of breath before they get to the broken doorway.</p>
<p>“I knocked out some guards, but there are more,” she says as they reach the hallway. They’re at the very end of one long corridor. It’s marginally brighter than the room Merlin was in, enough that he can make out vague shapes ahead of him. Morgana begins pulling him down it. “I don’t know how long we have before they wake up and I don’t know how many are down here.”</p>
<p>As they walk, the vague shapes get closer, and Merlin realizes they are actually a trio of guards sprawled against the wall of the hallway, the bars of three nearby cell doors lying mangled on the ground around them.</p>
<p>“I was in the middle cell around the corner,” she says. She glances at the unconscious guards and the surrounding bits of metal, then at Merlin. “I didn’t have any other spells, okay? I could only blast entranceways apart. I had to get creative.”</p>
<p>They’ve turned the corner, where there are two more guards, also unconscious, and Merlin recognizes the jagged hole in the wall beside them as the entrance to their cell.</p>
<p>“‘M even more’mpressed,” he hisses, tightening his hold on Morgana’s shoulders as she drags him over the legs of one of the guards.</p>
<p>“Thank you, I’m a genius.”</p>
<p>“You’ll haff to…” he has to remember the word. “Regale! Regale me. With your heroic tale,” There’s a shout somewhere ahead of them, and Merlin feels dread pool in his stomach. “After this. And also tell me ‘bout butterflies.”</p>
<p>Morgana looks at him.</p>
<p>“You saw my butterflies?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Morgana wakes up alone.</p>
<p>She doesn’t panic, because she knows where she is and she knows what’s going on, to some extent, so she elects to jump right over the panicking part and go straight into the part where she comes up with a better, more clever plan than before.</p>
<p>She’s in the same cell, but the bowl and waterskin are gone. The beams of light in the cell are starting to turn yellow.</p>
<p>She makes her way over to the wall and uses it to get up. She knows she’s once again been blessed with a sleeping spell rather than a physical injury, because she feels fine the moment she gets herself to her feet. She wonders if she could possibly convince Merlin to use one to help her sleep at night. She didn’t dream at all.</p>
<p>
  <i>Merlin.</i>
</p>
<p>Morgana feels a familiar twinge of panic rising in her gut, nearly the same one she feels whenever she thinks about Gwen, and she has to push it down or she’s going to hyperventilate. At least she knows Merlin isn’t dead.</p>
<p>She can’t say the same about Gwen.</p>
<p>Her heart is hitting against the inside of her ribcage, and for the first time, she feels well and truly trapped. Which she knows is ridiculous, because it’s the same cell as before, and Merlin wasn’t exactly helpful, and if she almost escaped once she can absolutely escape again, but she’s alone now, she’s alone, and she doesn’t know if Merlin is alright, and she doesn’t even know if Gwen is alive, and she doesn’t know when rescue will be coming, and she doesn’t <em>have a plan,</em> and she <em>always</em> has a plan, and—</p>
<p>She’s tugging on her hair rhythmically, she realizes, because it’s a tangled mess and she can’t feel the pin—</p>
<p>She freezes. Where’s her pin?</p>
<p>There’s a thin, dusty beam of sunlight coming in through the window, and the corners of the cell are completely obscured in darkness against it. She sweeps her hands through the dark, breathing frantically. She makes contact with the remnants of the burned bowl and her fingers close around it. With a shriek, she whips it across the room. It clangs loudly against the bars.</p>
<p>It <em>must</em> be here, it must—</p>
<p>It’s near the entrance, just inside the bars, and when she finds it she clutches it to her chest. She kneels in the dark and listens to her breaths as they come out in whining sobs.</p>
<p>She needs to get out.</p>
<p>She closes her eyes.</p>
<p>She needs to get out. </p>
<p>There are strands of hair sticking to the tears on her cheeks and she scrapes them away. With trembling fingers, she twists her hair into a loose plait and slides the golden pin into the flyaways. She doesn’t have time to cry. She needs to save Merlin. She needs to get back to Gwen.</p>
<p>She just doesn’t know how.</p>
<p>The bars are just as solid when she checks them now as they were the first time. The only difference is that there are bits of charred bowl scattered along the floor in the hallway now. She debates trying to climb up to the window, but it’s too small to fit through.</p>
<p>What would Merlin do?</p>
<p>Before she even fully forms the question, she knows the answer: he would have used magic.</p>
<p>What would Gwen do?</p>
<p>Gwen doesn’t have magic. And as far as Morgana knows, she probably hasn’t even had any positive experiences with magic; she’s been burned by Morgana’s nightmare-casting, and her father’s death was related to magic.</p>
<p>But no, that’s not entirely true. She was also healed by the Druids. And she was friends with Merlin, and she’d found out about his magic at the same time that Morgana had told her about her own. Morgana isn’t sure if Gwen ever actually saw Merlin <em>cast</em> anything, but she certainly didn’t treat him differently after she found out.</p>
<p>Would Gwen do magic to escape, if she was in Morgana’s shoes?</p>
<p>Morgana thinks that she probably would, except it isn’t a fair comparison. A fair comparison would be if Gwen was willing to do magic after she’d accidentally burned Morgana, except even <em>that</em> isn’t a fair comparison, because Gwen doesn’t have feelings for Morgana the same way Morgana does for her.</p>
<p>Probably.</p>
<p>Merlin thinks otherwise, though, as if the way Gwen looks at her is enough information to go on, as if being a great maidservant is enough to prove feelings, as if…</p>
<p>But then again, there were other things, too, things Merlin didn’t know about. Things like the way Gwen’s cheeks had flushed when she’d handed Morgana the ivy pin, or the way her breath had felt on Morgana’s face when they sat on her bed and talked together, quick and soft like she was trying to keep it under control.</p>
<p>Gwen was an excellent maidservant and an even better friend, but sometimes when she laced up Morgana’s corsets her fingers lingered a little too long on the small of Morgana’s back, her fingers warm through Morgana’s chemise, and sometimes Morgana would look at her in the mirror and see her biting her lip. And while Morgana had always assumed she was just focusing, she found it odd that the hesitation would happen so often. Lacing up a corset should be muscle memory at this point. Morgana could lace up her own corset without breaking a sweat, and that took more focus than lacing up someone else’s.</p>
<p>And there was the way Gwen said <i>my lady,</i> even though she was allowed to say <i>Morgana,</i> and she knew it. She only said <i>my lady</i> when she was being sincere, when she was blushing, when Morgana was upset and needed comforting. She said <i>my lady</i> the way Merlin called Arthur <i>prat:</i> with fondness.</p>
<p>And Gwen had worn the butterflies in her hair every single day for the week after she’d received the gift, and whenever Morgana looked at them she felt warm in her chest, and every time Gwen caught her looking, she’d smile and look down at her feet. Except for the times that she looked directly into Morgana’s eyes and gave her a wink.</p>
<p>And Gwen <em>never</em> winked at anybody except Morgana, and that was mostly because she’d picked up the habit from Morgana, who winked at everybody.</p>
<p>Morgana shakes her head. But none of that was <em>proof.</em></p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>There’s dirt creased into the lines of her palms, and Morgana realizes she’s been scratching at it obsessively.</p>
<p>It isn’t proof. Nothing would be proof enough. If she wants to know what Gwen feels—or felt, because who knows if she’s forgiven her?—she would need to hear Gwen say it. And Gwen won’t say it, not if Morgana doesn’t ask. And she can’t ask if she’s stuck in this <em>bloody cell.</em> She can’t even ask for forgiveness.</p>
<p>She thinks about her dream, about the way Merlin’s eyes had flashed as he whispered into his cupped palms, about the butterflies birthed from his hands. </p>
<p>If Morgana could go back and do it differently, would she ask Merlin to teach her a spell like that? Could her magic, which shattered things and burned things and cursed things, learn how to conjure butterflies?</p>
<p>They’d whispered to her, <i>it is fear that holds you back, and fear that is your doom,</i> but what if she hadn’t been afraid? What if she had looked at Merlin’s book longer? What if she’d sat in her bed and whispered into her own palms, what if she’d cupped her hands to her face and thought of butterflies? Would Gwen have been delighted? If she’d knelt and thought of Gwen’s face in the meadows in spring, the little mole on her cheek, and she’d put her fingers to her lips, and she whispered, would she be able to conjure life?</p>
<p>
  <i>Gewyrcan lif.</i>
</p>
<p>The words come to her softly. At first, she isn’t sure if they are in her head or not, but then she places them: Merlin mouthed them to her in the dream. They were unintelligible before but now they’re as clear as the butterflies’ whispers: <i>Gewyrcan lif. Belifan Strangaþ.</i></p>
<p>Summon life. Stay strong.</p>
<p>Is it a spell or a message? It feels a bit like both, and she doesn’t hear the message in Merlin’s voice. She hears it in her own.</p>
<p>“Gewyrcan lif?” she asks the air, speaking it into existence. It’s a hesitant whisper but it feels right. In her chest, something rises and dies between breaths.</p>
<p>She’s half-expecting someone to answer, but there is only the echo of her own voice on the stones. She is alone.</p>
<p>There are no guards in the hall, no Merlin, no Gwen, nobody to curse except for herself.</p>
<p>
  <i>It is fear that holds you back, and fear that is your doom.</i>
</p>
<p>Morgana cups her hands to her lips. She closes her eyes, the way Merlin had, and she sees the butterflies perched in Gwen’s hair. She feels forget-me-not petals brush against her cheeks. She whispers the spell into her palms.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Gewyrcan lif.”</i>
</p>
<p>Her breath is hot but her eyes are <em>hotter.</em> Morgana gasps and pulls her hands away from her face. Her eyelids are burning over her irises. She opens them. The thing in her chest rises again, falls again, and there is something fluttering in her palms, something wriggling between her fingers.</p>
<p>She opens her hands.</p>
<p>Butterflies.</p>
<p>Six of them, sapphire-blue and glowing with a light of their own, perched along the pads of her fingers and left palm.</p>
<p>With a flex of her wrist, they scatter, fluttering up into the air in a line of soft blue light. She stares, lips parted in wonder.</p>
<p>Did she do that?</p>
<p>They’re meandering around the cell in lazy circles above her head, passing in and out of the beam of sunlight. Six scraps of delicate blue against the background of a gray cell, and when the sunlight hits them, they seem to trap its golden rays in the scales of their wings.</p>
<p>Did her eyes flash gold? Did they glow? Did she cast? <em>Did she do that?</em></p>
<p>She wants to believe she did.</p>
<p>And she wants to believe she can do it again.</p>
<p>She stops herself. <em>Does</em> she want to do it again? She’s vowed to never use her magic, so she shouldn’t. But she doesn’t feel ashamed of these butterflies the way she feels about hurting Gwen. She doesn’t look at these bobbing bits of life and feel the way she did about the broken vase in her room. </p>
<p>The butterflies are the exact opposite of destruction.</p>
<p>Can she make a decision to use her magic for life? Can she change her vow from not using magic to not destroying things with magic? Is she allowed?</p>
<p>When she asks Gwen for forgiveness, maybe she can show her the butterflies. Maybe she can prove to Gwen and to herself that she isn’t a danger. Maybe she can find a spell to make flowers grow.</p>
<p>But she needs to get to Gwen first.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Morgana has a plan. A <em>real</em> plan, and it involves screaming.</p>
<p>Every few seconds, she presses her face through the bars and lets out a shriek, then listens. The first few have resulted in nothing, but she’s confident that at some point, <em>someone</em> is going to hear her and come running. If not for any other reason than to shut her up.</p>
<p>She lets out another shriek. There seems to be some kind of activity at the end of the hallway to her right, and she lets out another scream, more terrified-sounding than the first. She’s perfected the art of faking the role of damsel in distress, and screaming with an adequate amount of terror is one of the most important skills.</p>
<p>There are footsteps now, two sets. Morgana backs up until her heels hit the wall of the cell and screams again. The steps pick up the pace.</p>
<p>Morgana takes a deep breath and raises her arms. She shifts her weight from foot to foot. </p>
<p>“Alright, Morgana,” she says under her breath, “you can do this.”</p>
<p>Her hands are trembling in front of her. </p>
<p>
  <i>One more second. One more—</i>
</p>
<p>The guards arrive at the entrance to the cell and Morgana squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and shouts:</p>
<p>
  <i>“Tóspringe!”</i>
</p>
<p>There’s a whoosh of air and a loud clang, and Morgana opens her burning eyes just in time to see the entire front wall rend itself from its supports and slam backwards, knocking the two guards to the ground.</p>
<p>She stares at the damage for a second, then winces. She was hoping to knock them back and scare them into telling her where Merlin was, but they’re unconscious now.</p>
<p><i>So much for no destruction,</i> she thinks, but she checks them and they’re still breathing.</p>
<p>Small victories.</p>
<p>The butterflies have followed her out of the room, and they bob and dip through the swirling dust in the air before fluttering down the hallway to her left.</p>
<p>It’s as good of a start as any. She turns on her heel and runs down the corridor towards them.</p>
<p>She passes rows of cells and a few wooden doors, but every single one of them is empty. Morgana begins to wonder why a couple of bandits seem to own an entire dungeon, but she doesn’t have time to ruminate.</p>
<p>As she turns right down the next corridor, three more guards turn to stare at her. One lets out a shout.</p>
<p>
  <i>Oh no.</i>
</p>
<p>The only option is to turn around or fight, and she knows deep in her gut that turning around will bring her further from Merlin.</p>
<p>In a moment of panic, she dodges into one of the unlocked cells.</p>
<p>A spell whizzes by the bars behind her, and she realizes with growing dread that at least one of these guards has magic.</p>
<p>Out of breath, Morgana presses herself up against the back of the cell and raises her arms. She’s capable of two spells:</p>
<p>Making butterflies.<br/>Blasting door frames.</p>
<p>As the first guard comes into view, his eyes glowing gold, Morgana lets out a shout and presses her hands forward.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Tóspringe!”</i>
</p>
<p>It’s the same result as before: the bars curl and launch themselves forward, knocking the first guard unconscious and sending the second one sprawling.</p>
<p>
  <i>Oh goddess.</i>
</p>
<p>She takes a running leap over the unconscious guard and finds herself in the cell across the hall. Before the second guard gains his bearings, she throws the entrance at him. He collapses in a nest of metal and rock.</p>
<p>Heaving now, Morgana squints through the dust. There’s a third guard, she knows it, she just can’t see him—</p>
<p>There’s a flash of gold. Morgana ducks and hears the stones behind her shatter. She doesn’t know what spells this guard is throwing, but they’re definitely not sleeping spells.</p>
<p>Her only advantage is that he can’t see her in the dust, either. With that in mind, she stands and makes a run for the next cell, tripping over metal beams as she keeps her hand on the wall to guide her.</p>
<p>Prison bars have never given her so much comfort before.</p>
<p>There’s another whisper, another hiss of air, and Morgana swings around the edge of the entrance as another spell splits the dust. She lands in a crouch just inside the doorway. Remaining low to the ground, Morgana holds her breath. If he casts again, she’ll be able to see his eyes.</p>
<p>Nothing moves. She can hear the pebbles from the walls landing and settling on the floor.</p>
<p>And then there’s a scrape of a boot somewhere to Morgana’s left. With one last heave, Morgana flings the door forward and doesn’t even bother to check if it made contact before she’s running down the hallway again.</p>
<p>The dust dissipates a few meters down, and she can see the end of the hall.</p>
<p>The butterflies are gone.</p>
<p>But there’s no reason to have three guards standing in an empty hallway.</p>
<p>Jogging, she glances side to side at each empty cell before she gets to the last one: a tall wooden door with a barred window just above her head.</p>
<p>She tries the handle, but it’s locked. She stands on her tiptoes and peers into the window. She catches a glimpse of red hair, and that’s absolutely enough evidence for her.</p>
<p>She backs up a few steps. It’s never occurred to her that you could exhaust yourself with magic, but she’s exhausted now. </p>
<p>She takes a moment to herself, but it’s cut short when she hears a pained grunt inside, followed by yelling.</p>
<p>With one last effort, she caves the door in.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>The thrill of pride in Morgana’s chest when she finds out someone else saw her butterflies doesn’t last long.</p><p>As she drags Merlin down the hallway, she tells herself that she’s thankful he doesn’t look much worse than before—his eyes are less focused, and his hair is matted with blood, but the bounty hunter was clearly more bark than bite. It’s good that Merlin is still in one piece, and that he’s conscious, it really is.</p><p>He’s heavy, though, and she isn’t sure how far away they are from the exits.</p><p>She wants to demand that he pull himself together, except that he looks like he’s doing his best. He isn’t the most coordinated person on a good day, and this? This is a very bad day. </p><p>He can barely string a sentence together, but he’s trying.</p><p>She readjusts her grip around his waist and wonders if there’s a better way to be doing this, but the thought vanishes when she reaches the end of the second hallway and finds herself at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Halfway up the stairs is the source of the shouting: a guard calling for reinforcements. </p><p><i>“Ástríce,”</i> Morgana hisses, nearly dropping Merlin when a wave of exhaustion hits her. The knight goes flying backwards, landing a few steps up. She can see the shallow rise and fall of his chest.</p><p>“You need to work with me,” she gasps. The stairs are a challenge all on their own, and she knows there are more guards coming.</p><p>“‘M trying.”</p><p>She trips, slamming her shin into the next stair up. “Well, you must <em>try harder.</em> Isn’t there some kind of spell to transport us somewhere far away? Or shrink you into something smaller?”</p><p>“Probably. But don’ know ‘t.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes. They’ve almost reached the top. “You really are not being very helpful,” she says as they spill onto the landing. She puts Merlin down. He stays on his knees with his hand against the wall, breathing deliberately through his nose.</p><p>They are standing in a high-ceiling corridor, lines with columns and panels of shattered stained glass. It’s clear that whoever once lived in this castle vacated it long ago.</p><p>That’s the only information Morgana can ascertain before a crowd of bandits come bursting from either end of the hall.</p><p>The only option is to retreat back into the dungeons, which isn’t an option at all.</p><p>“Any ideas?” she whispers, putting her hands up. She can take a few bandits if she has a sword, but all she has is her magic, and there must be at least twenty men.</p><p>And some of their eyes are already glowing gold.</p><p>“Merlin? They have magic. I don’t suppose you know any shields?”</p><p>Merlin’s eyes are darting back and forth as he kneels. There’s a moment of panic, and then he raises his eyebrows and looks at Morgana.</p><p>“Get behin’ me.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p><em>“Get behind me.”</em> Merlin propels himself forward and tackles Morgana to the ground just as the first sorcerer casts a spell. They have a few seconds before the bandits with swords can do damage, so Merlin scrambles on his hands and knees until Morgana is between him and the wall.</p><p><i>“Wáce ierlic,”</i> he whispers. “Stay behin’ me, ‘n cast it.”</p><p>Morgana has no idea what his plan is, because if he gets hit with a spell he’s just going to fly into her.</p><p>Another spell rockets towards them. At the last second, Merlin drags his arms up in front of his face and tenses his shoulders. To Morgana’s amazement, the spell makes contact with the cuffs and bounces back, shattering a window across from them.</p><p>“How did you know that was going to work?” she asks, moving to kneel behind him fully.</p><p>He gives her a lopsided grin over his shoulder. “Did it before.”</p><p>Morgana looks over Merlin’s shoulder.</p><p><i>“Wáce ierlic.”</i> The spell is similar to the one she used on the stairs, except much stronger. She actually recoils a bit. It makes contact with the nearest line of attacking bandits and blasts three of them back at a time.</p><p>Merlin deflects another spell, rocking back a little and gritting his teeth.</p><p>Morgana throws another over his shoulder.</p><p>There are too many.</p><p>As quickly as Morgana can knock them back, they get back up, and she can feel the energy draining from her body with every push.</p><p>And every spell that Merlin deflects shoves him back a little bit more.</p><p>The next spell that’s thrown is made of fire, and Merlin manages to catch it against the edge of the cuffs before it can hit Morgana in the chest, but not quickly enough to keep the sparks from singeing her hair and scorching his sleeves. She swipes at the embers in a panic as they burn her skin.</p><p>A bandit with a sword takes the opportunity during the distraction to charge, and it’s only when he’s within spitting distance that Merlin recovers enough to slam his shoulder into the guard’s gut. He doubles over. Merlin grabs his sword, but they’re truly cornered now, and Merlin can’t use a sword handcuffed.</p><p>The next spell only knocks one guard back, and Morgana finds the wind knocked out of her. The spells are sapping her energy faster than she can replenish it.</p><p>They’ve halved the number of bandits now, bringing the number from twenty to maybe eight, but the remaining conscious bandits have noticed their fatigue and are hanging back, launching spells and biding their time.</p><p>“What do we do?” Morgana whispers, trying and failing to catch her breath. Merlin shakes his head.</p><p>“Don’know.”</p><p>A bandit to their left throws another spell at them, and this time Merlin misses. It throws him backwards and he lands in a heap, groaning.</p><p>They’re doomed.</p><p>Morgana stands with her arms out, and the bandits aren’t even attacking, they’re just walking towards her slowly, casually, and the one who threw the spell gives her a little grin.</p><p>And then he collapses, face first, onto the ground.</p><p>For a split second, Morgana wonders if she’s somehow managed to cast a spell without saying anything. But then she sees the bolt in his back and chaos erupts.</p><p>The bandits are turning with confusion, shouting, and Morgana can’t see what they’re looking at because she’s used the chaos as cover to crawl to Merlin, who is clutching his arm and making bitten-back noises of pain.</p><p>She puts a hand on his shoulder and his eyes find hers.</p><p>“Look out,” he breathes, and Morgana turns to see a sword raised above her head, ready to come down on her, and she squeezes her eyes shut and braces for the impact—</p><p>And then something stops it mid-swing.</p><p>Morgana peeks her eyes open.</p><p>“...Gwen?”</p><p>Gwen, sword in hand, looking all rage and fury, shoves the bandit back and slashes at his belly. There’s blood spattered on her cheek. Her hair is twisting out of its braids. She’s sweating in the light of the afternoon sun.</p><p>And she’s so beautiful Morgana isn’t sure if she can breathe.</p><p>“Gwen! What are you—” she cuts herself off when another bandit charges at Gwen’s exposed flank. She stands, flush against Gwen’s side. <i>“Ástríce!”</i></p><p>She does it without thinking, but the moment the man goes flying backwards, Morgana’s knees buckle, and before she can hit the ground she feels an arm around her waist. </p><p>“You cannot go collapsing on me now, my lady. Not when the rescue party has finally arrived.”</p><p>Gwen has her eyes trained on the still-advancing guards, but she takes a moment to meet Morgana’s eyes and shoot her a half-smile before raising her sword again.</p><p>Morgana is <em>tucked up against her hip,</em> pinned there by one of Gwen’s arms.</p><p>“I’ll slow you down,” Morgana gasps, but she makes no effort to pull away. Gwen blocks another swing and tightens her grip around Morgana’s waist.</p><p>“Nonsense,” she says. “You’ll protect me.”</p><p>
  <i>Oh goddess.</i>
</p><p>The rapid flurry of emotions raging inside Morgana’s gut are too confusing to think about right now and she’s afraid her exhausted mind is going to shut down. All she can really think about is an inarticulate conglomerate of how warm Gwen is against her after being in the dungeon, how unafraid she looks, and how she just saw Morgana blast a sorcerer across the room.</p><p>
  <i>And she trusts me.</i>
</p><p>Leaning into Gwen’s side, Morgana fires a spell at another advancing sorcerer, but it staggers and falls to its knees before it makes contact. </p><p>It’s then that Morgana realizes Gwen didn’t arrive alone.</p><p>Arthur, looking every bit a knight in his red cape, dispatches the second-to-last sorcerer with a deep wound to his chest. There’s a crossbow slung over Arthur’s shoulder.</p><p>He looks marginally surprised to see Morgana casting, but Merlin has said that Arthur<em> always</em> looks surprised by casting, even though Merlin has cast in front of him dozens of times, so she doesn’t feel particularly worried.</p><p>She’s only worried about Gwen.</p><p>As Gwen knocks the hilt of her sword into the final bandit’s head, Arthur scans the sea of unconscious and dead bandit bodies before his eyes land on Merlin, still slumped on the ground behind Morgana and Gwen. He rushes towards them.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asks, but Morgana nods, waving him off.</p><p>“I’m fine, really. Go to Merlin.”</p><p>Arthur nods once, the muscles in his jaw clenching. His eyes are already trained on Merlin, but Morgana knew they would be. They always are.</p><p>He reaches Merlin and cups his face in his hands, runs his thumb over Merlin’s cheek, brushes the matted hair away from his forehead. He pulls him into his lap and begins speaking softly into his ear, things Morgana can’t hear and doesn’t want to.</p><p>It’s Gwen she needs to speak to.</p><p>The tip of her sword drips with the gore, and Morgana can’t keep her eyes from wandering to the arm still wrapped tightly around her waist, where the white linen of her sleeve hides the burns. She’s wearing trousers, tucked into thick leather boots. A sleeveless fur, belted at the waist, wraps her torso. The sun is coming in through the shattered window behind her, and it’s such a familiar sight Morgana thinks she’s going to cry all over again.</p><p>She can feel her breathing beside her.</p><p>“Guinevere,” Arthur is saying. “Do you have those keys from the throne room? There are cuffs...” </p><p>Gwen turns, but it isn’t to look at Arthur. Instead, she drops her sword and guides Morgana down to the floor. She reaches into her pocket and tosses a ring of keys in Arthur’s direction, and it’s then that she finally catches Morgana’s eye.</p><p>“Are you truly alright?” she whispers, wide brown eyes demanding the truth, and Morgana could almost laugh.</p><p>“Am <em>I </em>alright? Gwen! Are <em>you</em> alright?” She doesn’t want to mention the arm, but her eyes flick towards it anyway. Gwen doesn’t miss it.</p><p>She smiles tightly. “I’m fine,” she says. At Morgana’s dubious look, she rolls her eyes and tugs her sleeve up, revealing pink-brown scar tissue, shiny but fully healed over. “Honestly, everything has been healed by the Druids. See?”</p><p>“Merlin, you idiot, can you hear me? I’m going to…” Arthur’s voice fades into the background as Morgana forces herself to trace the path her curse took: a cobweb of lines starting at the tips of Gwen’s fingers and dissipating somewhere above the elbow, beyond the edge of her sleeve. The arm <em>does</em> seem to be fully healed, but the scars are large and permanent-looking.</p><p>“I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Morgana can only bring herself to mouth the words around the tears clogging her throat, but Gwen drops her sleeve and grabs Morgana’s face, smoothing down her hair.</p><p>“Look at me,” she says, but Morgana can’t. Gwen continues anyway. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”</p><p>“But I—” Morgana swallows. “Gwen, I hurt you. You could have been killed!”</p><p>“You were asleep, Morgana.” Morgana doesn’t miss Gwen’s use of her real name. She only does that when it’s serious. “I knew the risks and I accepted them. I chose to stay in your room.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t have asked you to.”</p><p>“I <em>wanted</em> to.” Morgana looks up then, and Gwen’s face takes up all of Morgana’s vision. She looks stern but not angry, and her hands are still on her cheeks, nervously stroking her hair. “Do you hear me? I made the decision because I <em>wanted</em> to. It was not because you forced me to, and it was not because I must listen to you as your servant.”</p><p>Morgana can’t formulate an articulate argument. Instead, her voice comes out very high as she asks:</p><p>“So you are not afraid of me?”</p><p>Gwen releases Morgana’s face, seizes her hands—the ones that <em>burned her</em>—and squeezes them. There’s a watery smile on her face. </p><p><em>“No,”</em> she says, rising onto her knees and falling again, as if the energy of the word has lifted her off the ground. “No, I could never fear you, Morgana. Do you believe me?”</p><p>She does. She <em>does</em> believe Gwen, more than anybody else.</p><p>Biting her lip to keep from crying, Morgana nods. The tears fall anyway, and <em>gods,</em> Morgana is <em>so tired.</em></p><p>“Oh…” Gwen pulls her close, wrapping her in a hug that feels more like a desperate plea to never leave. “Morgana, I promise. I promise, I am not afraid. I was never afraid.” She’s stroking her hair, fingers catching on the tangled remnants of the loose plaiting, and without thinking, Morgana reaches up to touch her pin, but it isn’t there.</p><p>Grief grips her heart, but she’s too exhausted for panic. She hesitates only a moment more before returning the embrace. She can feel Gwen’s chest heaving against her own, and realizes Gwen’s shuddering with suppressed tears.</p><p>The pin is gone.</p><p>“What?” Gwen’s hot breath in Morgana’s ear sends shivers down her spine. Had Morgana said it out loud? “What is gone?”</p><p>She releases, dropping her hands to rest on Morgana’s knees. Morgana feels her cheeks heat up, but if she looks down into her lap she’ll see Gwen’s hands resting on her legs, and that isn’t going to help her cool down. So she maintains eye contact and tries to keep her voice steady.</p><p>“I lost your pin.”</p><p>Gwen’s brow furrows. She lets out a surprised breath. </p><p><em>“My</em> pin?” She asks, the corners of her mouth twitching. Morgana’s face grows hotter.</p><p>“Well, yes, it—it was your pin…” Gwen looks amused, and Morgana feels her heart rate pick up. “...Oh goddess, was it not?”</p><p>Gwen slides her hands up her legs, resting them lightly against Morgana's hips. She’s smiling fully now, revealing the tiniest glimpse of her front teeth. She leans forward.</p><p>“It was from a secret admirer,” she whispers, and Morgana lets out a little squeak. She can smell the blood and sweat from the battle on Gwen’s clothes, the faint scent of healing herbs and something earthier. She smells of the golden sunlight that dances in her hair.</p><p>“I…” Morgana’s hands come up of their own accord, bracing themselves just below Gwen’s ribcage. Her pupils are blown very wide.</p><p>“I’ll get you a new pin,” Gwen murmurs, and closes the space between them.</p><p>It is not like her dream because this time, there is texture. There is pressure on Morgana’s hips and then a hand tangled in her hair. She can feel Gwen breathing under her palms and she pulls her tighter, as if she can breathe for both of them. She can taste the salt of sweat on her lips mixed with the golden light of afternoon and the color blue, somehow, on her tongue and under her skin.</p><p>It truly isn’t like her dream at all. Not even a little.</p><p>Except in her stomach, she feels butterflies.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading :)  I hope you enjoyed it!<br/>And a special thank you to the lovely folks who put this bang together, and got me up and writing again! I didn't know I could write this many words in two weeks.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>~Ra1n</i></p>
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